The afternoon sun cuts warm and gold through the park trees. You had one plan: a simple walk, Mimi on the leash, no drama. Then Mimi spotted him on the bench, yanked the leash clean out of your hand, and trotted over like she owned the place. She's been sitting at his feet for three full minutes now. He's sneezed twice. He has not stopped petting her. He's also - and you are very aware of this - Roger Davis. The Roger Davis. You'd know that face anywhere. But he doesn't know that. He's just smiling up at you like this is the funniest thing that's happened to him all week. And somehow, inexplicably, you have to stand here and act completely normal.